


Legacy

by Resistance



Category: NASCAR RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 17:04:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6059152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resistance/pseuds/Resistance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chase has a hard time with comparing the past to the present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> You probably need to read [I Remember](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4849655) first.

_February 14, 2016_

_Daytona, Florida_

The last time the pole position said ‘Elliott’ for the Daytona 500 was February 18th, 2001. 

The press talked about how I wasn’t celebrating winning the pole in my very first Cup race in the 24 enough. How do I explain why? How do I tell them that I’m terrified what this race is going to bring us? I can tell myself that it’s just a coincidence and nothing more, but it still didn’t seem like something I wanted to celebrate with a big grin or a party. Even if they could understand how everything lined up for my family, they wouldn’t fully understand what this felt like.

The only person that could possibly understand was waiting for me after the press dispersed. He didn’t say anything, just gestured that I should follow him to his motor coach. I was glad to see it was empty when I stepped inside. He handed me a bottle of water without asking if I was thirsty. I gulped it down, I was beyond parched. 

“You have to look happy to have won the pole.” Dale said, sitting on the couch. He gestured that I should sit too, telling me that this was going to be a long conversation and I might as well make myself comfortable.

I frowned, but nodded as I sat down. I knew that he was right, of course, but I still couldn’t bring myself to feel happy about it. In all honesty, I couldn’t wait to get out of Florida and onto the next race. I had raced at Daytona in February twice, with Xfinity cars, but both times I had started towards the back and finished in the middle. I hated every minute of being there, but no one was looking at me so I could hate the track in peace. When I crashed last February, no one could see my face after it happened. I’ll just say it was a good thing I slept alone after that race. But that was all over now and Dale was reminding me of that fact.

After a long silence hung in the air, Dale spoke up, “Nothing is going to happen to me next Sunday.” I could feel his eyes on me but I didn’t want to look up. I gave my full focus to the empty bottle in my hands and started peeling the label off like it was the most important thing I had to do in that moment. He leaned forward and put a hand on my arm, “I swear, little brother, I’ll be fine.”

Damn him for being able to read my mind like that. And double damn him for saying it out loud. Weird thoughts like that belonged in the back of my mind, not hanging in the air out in the open. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the tears as hard as I could. He only called me ‘little brother’ when he knew I was upset. If everything is too quiet and I start thinking about our papa, I can hear Dale’s voice calling me ‘little brother’ and telling me that Papa wasn’t coming home again. The nickname was both comforting and upsetting, but I never told him that.  

I cleared my throat before I spoke and even so my voice was a croaking whisper, “I know.”

“Look at me.” He insisted. I blinked a few times before I forced myself to look at him. My eyes were wet but somehow I managed to hold back the tears. He met my eyes and I could see the worry in his. His voice was calm and even, but insistent, “Nothing bad is going to happen during this race. I promise you that we’ll both walk away from this race next week.”

I nodded, but I had to look away from him. I scrubbed at my eyes, fighting the tears. “I’m not driving the 9. At least that’s something?” My voice sounded weak even to my own ears, I couldn’t imagine how pathetic I sounded to him.

Dale shook his head, “When you were real little, Dad decided that you shouldn’t be called ‘William’ because you weren’t Bill. He didn’t want Bill to give you that name in the first place, but he lost that battle. Thing is, he knew that everything was put on my shoulders being ‘Junior’ and he decided that wasn’t going to happen to you. He started calling you Chase and told Bill that if he tried to call you ‘Bill Junior’ that he was going to take you away from him because that was too much pressure and he wasn’t going to do that to another kid. Especially not you. He said that. I know you don’t remember it, but I do. He’d be kicking your ass right now if he was here. You’re not Bill. I’m not Dad. No matter what they named us.”

I didn’t bother to wipe the tears. I thought I knew all the stories about my papa that there were to know, but I didn’t know that one. And more than any other story, I needed to know that one. I needed to know that my papa didn’t expect me to carry on the family anything. He wanted me to be my own person. I guess Dale saved it for this exact moment on purpose. I dropped my head into my hands and stopped holding back the tears completely. No other story that I remembered or that I had been told reminded me so much of how Papa not only loved me but really considered me his son. I needed him to be with me, I needed his support. I needed to hear him tell me that I was my own person, not a combination of the legacy that everyone saw and the legacy I held in my heart.

After a long moment, I wiped at my eyes and looked up at Dale, “I’m glad he didn’t decide to call me Clyde.” I tried to smile, but it was weak. I didn’t know how to tell him how much what he said meant to me. But the best thing about my big brother was that I didn’t have to. I knew he understood.

Dale quirked a little smile, “Truth be told, I tried to get ‘em to call you that. It’s a fine name.”

“For a horse!” I laughed a little, still sniffing back some lingering tears.

“That’s no way to talk about yourself, Clyde.” He draped an arm around my shoulders, jokingly. “Here’s the thing, Clyde. Your first race in the 24, your first pole as a real Cup driver, that’s only going to happen once and I want you to enjoy it. You’re twenty and you’re as serious as an old man. You don’t need to be. No one will look down on you if you enjoy yourself, Clyde. You’ll learn that, but I have to tell you anyway.”

I looked at him side-eyed, “Here’s the thing, _Ralph_. I don’t want to be looked at as twenty-year-old-Chase-Elliott, like that’s my full name. I just want to race as myself, for myself, like everyone else can. I want to be the same as the rest of you. I want to be treated the same way.”

Dale snorted, “Then you should have been born to a different set of dads. You’re not the same. I’m not the same either. Never gonna be. That’s the hand you were dealt, Clyde, you’ve gotta play it.”

“Deep metaphor, Ralph.” I stood up to toss my water bottle in the trash and to pace a little. Everything Dale said was completely right and the best advice I could get, but I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted to be like Kasey or Jimmie, just a normal guy whose only expectations were those that were put on him because of his job and team, not because of his name and age. But I wouldn’t trade the almost six years I got with my Papa and the lifetime I was enjoying with the rest of my family to just be a normal name among the crowd. Especially my know-it-all big brother.

I heard Dale sigh and I smiled. He didn’t reach the same conclusion I had and I was glad for that. I didn’t like that he thought he knew every little thing about me like he did was I was little. I wanted to think I wasn’t the same kid that I was ten or fifteen years ago. I wanted to grow and change. I plopped down onto the couch next to him with a little grin that was only slightly betrayed by my still red-rimmed eyes. “So then… how are we going to celebrate my pole win, huh?”

The smile he gave me reminded me so much of Papa.


End file.
